I seem to embarrass my children regularly.
This was an easy feat when they were young, like, you know, anytime between the ages of 11 and 19.
At five, our kids think we’re heroes.
At 15, we’re idiots.
But in theory, my kids should be too old for me to embarrass.
I’ve discovered this theory is incorrect.
For instance, last Friday was Veteran’s Day, which meant no school or work for me, my daughter, and her three little ones.
Planning ahead, I texted dear daughter (DD) the Wednesday before:
She texted back: “Great! Which one?”
Me: “Only children’s movie left with good seats is TROLLS.”
But with three children home all day with enough energy for 100 trolls, DD changed her mind, and we all went to the 1:30 matinee.
As we approached the theater, I warned my grandkids: “This movie has music. Madre loves music. So Madre dances in her seat when there’s music. Who wants to sit next to Madre?”
I took the fifth seat over, and my 7-year-old genius grandson sat next to me, seemingly happy to share his popcorn with his dancing Madre.
The film was as advertised. Bright colors. Songs with a happy beat. Cute little trolls. And Justin Timberlake trilling True Colors.
I danced in my seat (as advertised) and sang out loud.
DD, four seats away, scrunched down in her seat.
I wiggled and giggled gleefully to the music.
DD scrunched down further.
The three kids laughed, though. They even danced in their seats, too.
When the movie ended, my daughter and I turned toward each other and, over the kids’ heads, DD mouthed:
That Was AWFUL
. . . while simultaneously I mouthed to her . . .
That Was GREAT!